Michelle struggled to hold steady her trembling body as mobs of tears attacked her. Why had Armand done this to her? To them? She could not wrap her mind around it. Yet here she was, standing in the mirror, staring at her feminine form, questioning what she lacked that loosed her of the love she once counted herself among the few lucky souls to have found.
Her brow scrunched in frustration. Starting with her head, Michelle gently wiggled her body free, frustrated that these types of thoughts were even entering her head. She knew she was not to blame, but her search for answers forced her there.
Sauntering into the bedroom, Michelle, preoccupied with her mental ramblings, did not notice Grayson lurking in the door. She took her time clothing her naked body, enjoying the layer of cool the air disseminating from the whirring fan overhead, covering her as it removed the last traces of her shower. She plopped down on the side of the bed, nearest the bag that housed her toiletries.
She still had not noticed Grayson.
She reached into the bag and pulled out her lotion, powder, deodorant, and a hair tie, throwing them on the bed. Her breath caught in a lump in her throat, frozen; her body shivered as she found herself locking eyes with a gawking Grayson perched in the frame of the bedroom door. Judging by the look on his face, she had caught him, too. Seeing her nakedness locked him into the room with her.
Emboldened by the longing she saw in his eyes, Michelle entertained the call of her ravenous libido. The warmth between her legs spread like wildfire, surging from somewhere deep within her feminine well, sending her sweet tea rushing from between her swollen lips like the falls of Niagara. She bathed in the energy she so desperately craved, her body ablaze, tormented by a need she hoped he would be obliged to fulfill.
He could not, nor did he refuse to leave. She didn’t want him to, either. She didn’t run for cover at the sight of his six-foot frame darkening the doorway. Instead, she sashayed to the bed, sticking her plump ass into the air as she went. She dangled her body like a treat before him, tempting him to devour her whole. He licked his lips, pleased with the show.
The bed conformed to her frame as she made herself comfortable, lying naked atop the dark navy-blue spread. It did not matter that Grayson had not yet joined her. Her need was so great that, at least for the moment, knowledge of his desire was enough to occupy her thoughts.
Once she made it to the bed and he still hadn’t joined her, she sat down, facing him. Intent on seducing him, she leaned back, resting on her elbows, and opened her legs as wide as she could, giving him a clear, unobstructed view of her bald love hole. Still, he took his time coming to her, admiring her design from a distance.
The wait nearly killed her, but he finally joined her on the bed. She sat up and waited for him to make his move. He never uttered a word, but his lips looked so good, she didn’t need him to speak. They were like magnets, pulling her closer to him, even though she hadn’t moved a muscle.
An eternity passed by while they sat, staring into one another. Michelle’s resolve grew weaker with each passing second. Her body was so sensitive that a gust of wind against her nipple could have made her orgasm. Her body succumbed to involuntarily jerking as the anticipation overpowered her. Just when she thought she couldn’t last a second longer, Grayson leaned in to kiss her.
She had no choice but to return his kiss. Their chemistry was off the charts, and this moment was inevitable. This moment had taken over her dreams. So, when he leaned in, grazing his lips against hers, teasing her to the point where it felt unnatural not to give in, she . . . gave in.
The moment was bigger than her, the energy between them easily defeating the slightest resistance her mind offered. So, when he leaned in to kiss her, there was no doubt that he was what she wanted. What she needed. She kissed him like the she had something to lose. Bomb after bomb ignited within her; the earth straightened up and quit its rotation. Every corny love song ever written played in her ears all at the same damn time. That kiss was every fucking thing.
Months of pent-up sexual aggression evaporated with that kiss. His lips were the softest she’d ever felt. Tasting the vanilla ice cream she’d caught him sneaking earlier only increased her hunger. Vanilla was now her favorite flavor. His tongue explored her mouth, dancing with hers, exciting her even more. Craving the feel of his fingers against her skin, his breath on the nape of her neck, she covered her bare breast with his hand.
Michelle swallowed the hue of his chestnut eyes while they connected for just a moment before he found that one spot on her neck; that one spot that drove her libido into overdrive. She purred as he gently molded her hardened pearls, rolling them ever so slowly between his fingers.
Gasping as her erect nipples stretched and spread to fill his mouth, he toggled between the two, tonguing them as if they were one of his instruments. Michelle writhed in pleasure as her desire grew to an uncontrollable height. Why did he have to be so damn perfect?
Thrusting her hand in between her open legs, she ran her fingers over her enlarged clit, dipping them into her soaking wet hole, dousing her fingers in her natural juices. She couldn’t help herself. His touch made her clitoris throb with need. She had never behaved this way before, never been this starved for anyone in her life.
And it was wrong. All of this was wrong. She was engaged to another man, a man she loved, but none of that seemed to matter. Those truths failed to cool the flame burning for Grayson, and he wanted her just as badly. She felt her back hit the comforter as he continued to explore her body with his lips, caressing her breasts with his hands.
She closed her eyes and embraced the immense pleasure awaiting her, tossing aside all thought that did not pertain to the artist’s work. He painted her bare shoulders, arms, the palms of her hands, her stomach, and the inside of her thighs. Michelle braced herself for what she anticipated would happen next, removing her hand to make way for the prize.
He neared her womanness. She could feel his breath on her throbbing lips. It took all of her strength not take his head and jump start the party. Again, he made her wait, tormenting her by hovering just above her, barely brushing his lips across her clitoris and massaging her inner thigh with his hands. Michelle thought she’d go into cardiac arrest at any moment.
Without warning, he French kissed her, forcing his tongue deep into her wet space. Michelle drew a deep breath. She couldn’t even scream. Wave after wave after wave of bliss rocketed through her body.
He lifted his head, only to start all over again, tracing the form of her swollen lips with his tongue before suckling on the very tip of her clit. Michelle screamed with delight when he again put his mouth on her, flicking her clit with the very tip of his tongue. He felt so amazing. She could feel the orgasm coming. She just needed him to stay there. Right there. She couldn’t breathe until it happened. Any movement slowed it down, and she didn’t want to slow it down. She didn’t want to stop. Grayson kept suckling her clit. He didn’t move an inch. His moans intensified her pleasure as she felt herself closing in on the peak.
Oh my gawd, don’t stop, Grayson. Oh my gawd . . . I’m cumming . . . I’m cumming . . . I’m cum—
Wake . . . Up!
Laurence Fishburne’s tenor ripped through the air.
Wake . . . Up!
Dap, played by Fishburne, stood seemingly suspended in white space, megaphone in hand, screaming the phrase at the top of his lungs.
Wake . . . Up!
What in the hell?
Wake . . . Up!
Startled, Michelle popped up in bed, looking wearily around the room. Dap had disappeared, but his battle cry still rang.
Wake . . . Up!
The last line of legendary filmmaker Spike Lee’s 1988 classic, School Daze, sounded on a loop, announcing the end of Michelle’s date with the stars. There was no sign of Grayson, and the tank top she threw on before sinking into his king feather mattress was still intact.
Wake . . . Up!
The call to consciousness sounded again. Michelle
rolled around the bed, frantically combing through the thick comforter in search of her cell phone. Finding it trapped in her pillow case, she picked it up and swiped left, dismissing the alarm.
She watched the doorway for a moment to see if her alarm had wakened him. Satisfied that he wasn’t there, she shook her head, relieved. That was the fourth wet dream she’d had about him since he offered to let her stay with him just a little over a week ago. This was the most intense of the four, and she was a little concerned with what it might implicate. She climbed out of bed, stuck her head into the hall, and sure enough, Grayson was still fast asleep on the couch with Common on the floor nearby.
She rarely ever had sexually explicit dreams, at least not with anyone she actually had a chance with. Grayson was clearly different. He was attractive and kind, but he hadn’t hinted at harboring any romantic feelings for her. This notion of them coming together came out of nowhere. She guessed it would be nice to attach herself to such a beautiful person, but this was much too soon to even consider dating. She needed to sort things out with Armand first. Grayson was definitely worth more than a romp session, even if it would be an incredibly satisfying, mind-blowing romp session.
She checked the sheets for any remnants of her dream, and they were good, this time. Michelle had been fortunate enough to make use of the on-site laundry room before Grayson would see anything the last time. She could not imagine trying to explain that to him. In fact, she probably wouldn’t. That was one of those situations where you simply leave.
Michelle rummaged through her duffle bag for her toiletries. She was in desperate need of a cold shower. Unbelievable.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was definitely some chemistry between her and Grayson. He was a very handsome guy, and she’d have to be blind not to see that. Complicating things even further was the fact that she and Armand were doing more arguing than anything else over the last several months. She could use a little sexual healing, but that was not a priority. It couldn’t be.
Michelle could hear Grayson start to move around in the living room. Snatching her clothes out of her suitcase, she made a mad dash to the bathroom for a quick shower.
Chapter 32
“What do you mean you cannot see me?” Pins and needles, needles and pins. This is not how the story ends. Breathe, Brianna. Breathe.
“I am taking some personal time.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Sessions are mandatory. How can you just quit?”
“It is not that simple, Brianna. There are extenuating circumstances.”
“But you are my fucking therapist.” Keep it together. “I need to talk to you.”
“I can arrange for someone—”
“I don’t want to talk to someone else!”
“It cannot be avoided.”
“This is bullshit.” Being thrust into the realm of mothers had pushed Brianna into an emotional minefield. Everything about life and living aggravated her to no end. She spared no one, issued no IOUs. Even the poor train attendant got an earful after he gently reminded her to pay before taking her seat. Snapping had become so commonplace that even she was bothered by it. Taking it upon herself, she had reached out to Dr. WonderBra to request an emergency session, and apparently her state-mandated therapist would not be available to do her fucking job.
“I just cannot do it, Brianna.”
“I am not trying to be unreasonable, but I really need a session. I spoke with Dr. Baxter as you suggested, and it didn’t end well. I assumed we would discuss it at some point, and now you’re telling me that you can’t see me at all?”
“I usually don’t do this, Brianna, but I can hear the distress in your voice, and I imagine you can detect it in mine.”
Brianna plopped down on her bed, grabbed her pillow, released her frustration into the cotton, and took a deep breath. She pried her mind open so that she could listen without bias.
“There is a familial situation that warrants my immediate attention, and I am taking a personal leave to do that. Due to the nature of the emergency, I honestly am uncertain of how much time I’ll need. I would be happy to recommend another doctor, as I have with my other clients.”
“What is the emergency?” Perhaps it was not her business to inquire, but Brianna didn’t care at this point. She was not too broken to request the explanation she felt was due to her.
“Rachel is missing. No one has seen her in over two weeks, and her mother is worried that something might have happened to her.”
Distracted with her own trifles, Brianna had not noted her absence beyond the day she mentioned it to Dr. Shepherd. The thought of Rachel in danger made her very nervous, rekindling her own horrific experience.
“Two weeks? Why are you just now looking?!”
“Brianna, do not project. We have discussed this before. Similar is not synonymous. It is okay for you to identify with her, but she is not you.”
“I never said she was.”
“The tone of your question implied as much.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re wrong. The tone of my question reflects my disdain for your cavalier attitude about your missing niece—a niece I assume you have some sort of a relationship with that’s worth something, since she works with you on a daily basis. That niece disappears, and you don’t bat an eye. What educated, civilized person responds that way when someone they love goes missing?”
“Brianna . . .”
“How can you help me when you’re so obviously fucked up?”
“Brianna! Stop. Stop this.”
“She should mean something to you! Her life should matter!”
“Brianna! She is not you! Stop! I have not stated that I believe any of what you have accused me of. What gave birth to those thoughts? It was not me, Brianna.”
Brianna squeezed her eyes closed and rolled over onto her stomach. The movement forced the tension from her body, shifting the energy surrounding her. She screamed into the soft folds of her comforter. Dr. Shepherd was correct. Brianna was truly angry with herself, upset for not realizing that Rachel may be trapped in the same hell she once found herself in.
“Brianna?”
“I’m here.”
“Rachel has run off like this previously. Not quite this long, but I personally am not alarmed by it. My sister is, however, and that is the only reason I am taking this time. My sister, Bella, has lupus, and this stress is not good for her. I have never seen her this distraught, and I must make myself available. Do you understand?”
“I do, and I apologize. I didn’t mean to come off so harshly. There’s a lot going on, and I’m not sure how to feel about it any of it.”
“I would love to help you right now, really I would, but I just don’t have the time. Would you like a referral?”
“No, I am not going to talk to another counselor. I’ll just wait until you come back and try and figure this out on my own in the meantime.”
“I strongly urge you to continue counseling. I suppose the courts could amend your time under the circumstances, but that isn’t a certainty.”
“I don’t want to start over with another counselor.”
“How do you feel about Dr. Baxter? I know that you said your visit did not end well, but how do you feel about talking with him? He is licensed, though this isn’t his specialty. Seeing him could probably satisfy the probation requirement. He is insightful, communicative, and that might prove to be of even greater benefit since you already have a relationship with him.”
“I’ll try. Don’t worry about me. Good luck with finding your niece. I hope she’s okay. She was always nice to me when I saw her.”
“Thank you, Brianna. Talk to Dr. Baxter.”
Brianna ended the call worried about Rachel. She could imagine all the horrible things that could be happening to her at that moment. She felt so powerless and frustrated that there wasn’t anything she could do about it. It didn’t seem fair. Then it hit her—she wa
s probably feeling a small fraction of what Michelle felt while she was gone.
Michelle had the great misfortune of literally seeing Brianna snatched right off the beach. She remembered the pain in Michelle’s voice as she yelled her name, running as fast as she could to save her. Even after it was evident that Brianna would be taken, she never saw Michelle stop running. She kept running and screaming anyway. Michelle’s screams were the last thing Brianna heard as the van she was thrown into sped away. Michelle had never stopped looking for her.
Brianna had stupidly focused on Armand, when Michelle had been there all along. It was the image of Michelle running down the beach that had sustained Brianna during some of the more difficult moments of her captivity. It was Michelle’s voice on the other line, picking up every bread crumb Brianna left while she was at Javan’s. Michelle put her nerves to the side, focused, and continued the search for their parents. Not only did she find them, but she rushed outside to pass along the news before Brianna got the shock of the century inside the house. Since the moment they met, Michelle had treated her like a sister.
Something told Brianna that it was not Michelle who had made some drastic change. She had shifted the dynamic in their relationship, and all the attention Armand gave her just made it worse.
“What do I do now?”
The house was empty. Armand had not been there for several days, and Michelle had not come back since she left that infamous day. She needed to get Michelle to talk to her. She knew it was unlikely that Michelle would want to hear anything she had to say, but it was her time to try. Motherhood was etched into her future now, and she needed to try to put her life back together. She doubted if she could get it back to what it was, but she would give one hell of an effort.
Tell the truth/Tell the truth/Tell the truth/Everyone has a closet/In the night, they wear disguises.
Brianna laughed at how appropriate her ring tone, a snippet of the song “Tell the Truth” from Fox’s hit show Empire, was at this junction in her life. Things would be completely different if just one person in her circle would have been honest.
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